The Truthful Lies We Tell Ourselves
by RainbowsArePretty
Summary: "Shut up, you freakin' conscience!" She yelled, one of her legs stretching out, while the other held her perched chin. She glared at herself in the somewhat reflective surface of the bathroom stalls. She didn't much like what she saw.


Okay, I'm still continuing with "Top Notes" but I _had _to write this fic! Okay, cue disclaimer:

Note: I will not hold any of fan fiction creations hostage because I do not get reviews, or I get a few bad ones. In my opinion, reviews are for the readers benefit because if I can see what readers like and dislike, I will be able to improve my story. I don't hold stories hostage, and I won't require anyone to review before I post another chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fandoms in which I have written under this account, nor do I own any publicly recognized brand or product that appears in any of my work under this account. If you recognize it as being owned, then I do not own it. This applies to any and all work published under this account: RainbowsArePretty.

xXx

_Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Annie recited the motto over and over in her head. She was hiding in the bathroom, away for all the stares the followed her whenever she stepped foot in the CIA. Sure, usually she merited a few glances her way, either for simply being the "new girl", or when she decided to be daring and wear a skirt an inch shorter than usual.

But that wasn't happening. Not anymore.

"_Annie, don't do it. You've done your part, and now all you have to do is come home, 'kay?"_

"_But, Auggie," she insisted, pressing her hand to her ear in order to hear him better, "I can do this. I know I can."_

"_Annie," he spoke, the little voice in her ear, "That's not your job. Just leave the package and get out of there."_

_She glanced again at "The Package", and resisted the urge to glare at it. It had been a long time since she had actually been tempted to peek, but she could still feel hostile for not knowing. She had been ordered to leave a package in a foreign diplomat's office._

She looked at herself in the mirror. The last few days had been excruciating. It wasn't until today that she finally broke.

_There was an agent outside, keeping watch and reporting everything back to Auggie. She was glad that there were to wavelengths so that the agent outside wouldn't have to hear her little pep talk._

_If it had been a different situation, maybe she wouldn't have done what she was about to do._

_Leaving the package there, she quietly walked over to the door and flipped the silver lock._

"We have a new operation today. It's going to take place in Syria, and –" Joan had said earlier.

"Best not choose Walker," a man had snorted, "Not after what happened last time."

"_Walker? Walker, open up!" boomed the agent. She didn't know his name, so secretly she referred to him as Mr. Mustache._

"_Annie?" questioned Auggie, now re-entering the conversation, "Annie, what are you doing?"_

"_I'm doing what you told me to – I'm talking incentive," she responded._

"_If I knew that it was going to come back and bite me like this, I wouldn't have said it," retorted Auggie, "I really was talking about donuts."_

"_Uh huh," Annie murmured, distracted and unconvinced._

_Her fingers trailed the spines of the books, looking for the one that didn't belong. _

"_Hands up!" bellowed two men with a strong Turkish accent. In shock, she dropped the heavily-bound book, and with a resounding thud, it hit the floor._

_Her hands were up in instinct, and frantically searched for "Mr. Mustache". With a stifled gasp, she found him on the floor, his body leaning on the door jam, and his face alarmingly pale._

"_Annie?" spoke the voice in her ear._

"_Annie?"_

Frustrated as her thoughts reminded her how badly she had screwed up the operation, she hit the mirror, only to find it completely intact, and her red hand throbbing in the cradle of the other one.

In despair, she sat down, her undamaged hand holding her knees to her chest, and quietly sobbed into her knees.

"It's not your fault, you know."

"Shut up, you freakin' conscience!" She yelled, one of her legs stretching out, while the other held her perched chin. She glared at herself in the somewhat reflective surface of the bathroom stalls. She didn't much like what she saw. Her eyes were dark and tired; her hair was shooting out in every which way, a result of having run her fingers through it too many times.

"What?"

Annie snorted, and shot death rays towards herself, "You know what I'm talking about. You think you're so much better than me, always telling me to do the right thing, and always laughing when I do the wrong thing."

"I would never –"

"Stop it. Just stop," Annie whimpered, burying her face into her knee.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and that jolted her out of thoughts.

"Auggie?" she whispered.

He crouched down slightly to be at somewhat of an eye level with her.

"You're not my conscious," she whispered, her head tilting to the side as if finally realizing it.

"No. No I'm not," he nodded, agreeing with her.

"Did I ever tell you that your voice is my conscious? I always think "What Would Auggie Do". Lately it's just been . . . eating away at me. If only I had listened to you. Mr. Mustache wouldn't be dead if I did." If she had been even slightly more lucid than she was now, there was no way she would've admitted all of that.

"Who?" he questioned, slightly distracted by the feeling of her fingers dancing up and down his arm.

"Mr. Mustache," she repeated petulantly and child-like, "The agent that was at the door."

Her hand was busy fiddling with the collar of his shirt, though he pretended not to notice.

His brow furrowed in confusion, and he spoke softly to her, "Annie, Agent Pierson isn't dead; he barely got a concussion."

It was her turn to be perplexed. "But then why is everyone staring at me, Auggie?" she said in a voice that even he wouldn't have heard if it hadn't been for her head that was now resting upon his shoulder.

"Annie," Auggie murmured, running his fingers through her hair soothingly, "No one's been staring at you. I promise."

"Promise?" she said, in a voice that would have rather had belong to one of her nieces than her.

Auggie knew what she was going through. In every agent's career, there was just a time when they just . . . broke. His time was when he locked himself in his apartment for two days with nothing but a bottle of Patron and a newfound sightlessness.

"Hey, look at me," he tilted her head so that she was looking in his direction, "I promise."

"Okay," she murmured, "I think . . . I think I'm okay now."

Despite saying that, she still sat curled up to him.

"Everyone goes through this. You're not the only one," he gently reminded her.

She nodded a response, and fingered his collar some more.

Standing up, he smoothed out his pants and offered his hands to lift her up. Once she stood up, he placed both hands on her shoulders.

"I promise you, nobody will be staring at you," he reassured her, and offered her the crook of his elbow.

xXx

True to his word, no one had even spared them a glance, not even for coming out of the same bathroom together – they had all grown used to the "Bonnie and Clyde" pair.

Once they reached the parking lot, she lingered awkwardly at her car. She glanced up at Auggie, and nervously bit her lip – a habit she hadn't been able to get rid of since middle school.

"Auggie," she began, her eyes downcast, "I can't go home, not to Danielle and the girls. Not like this," and she gestured to herself.

"You can stay at my place, and we'll sneak over to yours in the morning for a fresh change of clothes, or," he grinned, wryly, "you can do the "Walk of Shame" with me," he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed, the first real laugh she had had in the last few days. She placed a hand on his cheek, and chastely kissed the other.

"Thanks, Aug." 

xXx

Ok, I cannot tell you have nervous I was to post this. I'm still nervous. Please tell me if it was ok, I'm not used to writing "darkish" fics.


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